Smile for Me
by Kira Loves
Summary: Teenage Bruce lives alone with his Butler Alfred, having lost his father in a car crash and his mother in a murder. However, Bruce doesn't seem to be all there and doesn't know what to think when he finds a clown in his garden. Bruce/Joker slash.
1. Smile

**A/N: This is a one shot in honor of Halloween! It's a little horror gore combined with- uh- other stuff! :) Anyways, I've really come to like this style of writing so I hope you guys enjoy.**

**Warning, this fanfic contains the following:**

**Violence**

**Homosexuality (because I really don't write anything that doesn't have this).**

_Oh God._

_No! No! Please!_

_Stop it! Stop it!_

_I can't breathe. I can't breathe!_

I'm trapped in my childhood body. I can't escape. I can't wake up.

The sound of the knife in my mother's flesh overcomes my ears and I fall to my knees. He makes me watch him as he tortures her. Why is he doing this?

Her murderer is not much older than I was at the time. He smiles as he drags the knife down her arm. I want to reach out and help her. I want to run away. I can't do anything but watch. I can smell my mother's blood as it begins to flow out from her body.

The boy murderer pulls my mother's shirt over her head. I can hear my mother scream her pleas but my legs are frozen. The maniac is a silhouette. He glides a finger across her breast. He cuts off one of the straps to frighten her. He begins tracing marks over her body and little red lines convey his etchings.

The more my mother kicks and screams, the harder he presses with the knife. He seems pleased with his psychotic artwork. Why is he doing this? Who is he? Why my mother? Why me?

Using all his might, he drags my mother towards me. He grabs her by the hair and forces her to look at me.

"Go on then," he says, his voice snakelike, "Put her out of her misery."

I don't know what he means. I'm only twelve-years-old.

_I don't what that means! Just stop it! Stop it!_

The older boy smiles at me. His grin seems to stretch across his face. He holds out the knife to me with his free hand. There's blood all over it. I want to step back. My mother looks at me as if I'm not really there. She's lost, dazed in her torment.

"Through the throat," the boy says as he pushes the knife softly against my hand before his voice rises, "Do it! Do it or I'll make her suffer more!"

_No! No don't take it! Stop! Don't!_

My silent protests are pointless. My hand shakily takes hold of the knife. The older boy puts his hand over mine as if trying to teach me. He guides the knife along my mother's throat gently. My mother groans in some surreal state, her eyes drifting towards the sky.

_No! No! For God's sake-_

The older boy shoves my mother into the knife while forcing my hand to plunge the knife into her. She awakens from her daze long enough to make eye contact with me. She makes these terrible wheezing, gurgling noises as the blood fills up her throat. I let go off the knife and take a step back as she falls over, convulsing and choking.

I can feel the tears streaming down my face.

_Mother, no! Please don't die! I'm sorry! I didn't do it! I didn't, please!_

The murderer walks up to my mother's body and dips a finger in the blood pooling around her. He comes up to me. My entire body is shaking. I feel as if I'm going to throw up. My mother was dying in front of me. Why? Someone please tell me why.

The older boy smiles at me kindly. He places the bloodied finger against my the corner on my lip and drags it upwards. He does the same on the other side.

"C'mon now," he hisses, "Smile."

I can taste my mother's blood in my mouth. I can smell the copper of it. I feel as if all her pain as entered my body. I can hear her screaming in my head. I can't stand it.

I scream from the very bottom of my lungs. The sound overpowers my body and rakes at my throat.

"Master Bruce," a voice calls as I scream in the alleyway.

"Master Bruce," it says again as the older boy begins to cackle.

"Master Bruce!" I hear Alfred's voice command, "Wake up!"

I fling my body forwards as if to escape form the horrors of my nightmare. My breath is heavy as it shambles in and out of my chest.

"Master Bruce," Alfred says calmingly, "You've had another terror."

I don't bother to look at him. I can't. I look straight down to my hands. My palms are bloodless but sweaty. I wipe them off on my sheets as I sigh. I'm trying to piece myself back together but it's hard. I feel as if I can never be safe in my dreams.

Alfred yet again is understanding of my apparent shock and turmoil. He places a hand on my shoulder, his routine form of affection.

"Perhaps we should skip today's lessons," he offers, "I'll just fix you something to eat."

"Thank you, Alfred."

Eventually, I get dressed and find myself downstairs at the kitchen table. I say nothing to Alfred as I begin eating the eggs and bacon he's prepared. There isn't much to say. Alfred and I have always been ones for silence. It's the only reason we've gotten along so well.

Alfred is just about everything to me. He's my caretaker, my legal guardian, my butler, my teacher and my only friend. He was like that long before my mother was killed. Alfred stepped in for a lot of things at least where my mother would allow him to step in.

Unfortunately, during my mother's life she had lost my father. He'd died in a car accident while she was pregnant. Because of this she became fearfully protective of me. I was never allowed to leave the mansion. I was to be home-schooled for the rest of my life. I know my mother was just trying to keep me safe but she was so possessive of me that I never even had friends.

Now I just sit in the mansion alone with Alfred. I'm seventeen-years-old and I've never had a friend. I've never dated a girl. I've never even been outside the front gates on my own. I've been like this for so long that I hardly find a reason to change. Besides, mother would have wanted me to stay here and even though she's gone, I can't help but heed her.

Alfred takes the dish from me. I've only eaten half of what he's given me but he already knows that I don't have the best of appetites. My nightmare does that to me. It's just the one. If I don't dream of her death then I don't dream of anything.

My mother's killer was never found and the whole ordeal was so traumatic for me that I wasn't much help in the investigation. All I was able to do when they question me was babble about how he made me hold the knife. I was a twelve-year-old kid who'd just witnessed his mother being murdered, they were lucky they got me to say anything at all.

It was sad too because it was the first time my mother had taken me out. We'd gone to see a movie. I don't even remember what movie it was.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred said over his shoulder as I stared at the table, "How about you go a walk around the garden? I know how much you like it out there."

I don't have much of a choice. My only other option is to stare at the television for the next twelve to fifteen hours and God knows I don't need to do that. Now that it's closer to Halloween the last thing I need to do is let gory horror movies influence me. I have enough gore and horror to last me a lifetime.

I get up from the table somberly. I don't want to go to the garden but I don't want to watch television. Alfred's lessons are more or less pointless. I get the gist of things in no more than twenty minutes anyway. I can't sit around like a vegetable though. I might fall back asleep and that is also something I very much don't want to do.

I resign myself to the garden, grabbing a coat and scarf before heading out the door. It's pretty cold outside. Winter must be coming early.

The majority of things in the garden are already dead and have been for a long time. Alfred's offered to have the garden fixed up but I always tell him not to. I prefer the garden to be dead. If I were to walk around a lush paradise of life and color I might just hang myself with one of the vines.

I start to make my first round through the dead trees and flowerless beds. It was a veritable forest of dead foliage to trek through. I'm not sure where my mind goes when I circle around the trails. It seems to grow cold and silent. The only thing I hear is the crunch of my footsteps against the few leaves that tried to grow but fell defeated by Autumn.

I wish I were dead. Not in some violent way. I could never bring myself to commit suicide. I just wish that one night I would drift so far away that I'd reach the end. I already feel like I'm halfway there.

Suddenly, I can smell smoke. I don't see a fire and the scent is light. It's coming from around the bend. I can see movement through the brush. Someone's there. Someone is in my garden.

_It's a..clown?_

I can see most of him as I peer through the bushes. He's got curly, green hair and a white face. He's wearing a purple suit that's a bit big for him. He's got a big red smile scraggled across his face as if a child had drawn it. Between his fingers is the source of the smoke, a cigarette. He brings it up to his crayon smile and sucks the smoke right out of it. He lets it flow out of his mouth and the smoke lazily swirls around in the cold October air.

He looks up and right at me. He's still and alert. I panic a little.

_Does he really see me?_

The clown shrugs and takes another puff. I sigh. He decides he's finished with his cigarette, drops it, and puts it out with the toe of his shoe.

"You can come out now," he says casually.

I freeze.

_Is he talking to-_

"Come on, it's all right," he encourages.

Suddenly the whole scene seemed backwards to me. This was _my_ garden, _my_ estate. Why was _I_ hiding in the bushes? If anybody should be hiding, it should be him.

I walk around to him. I stand there, cold and uncaring. I'd only spied on him because I wasn't sure whether or not he was real but now I knew. I was almost surprised when I came to him face to face.

He was a little shorter than me and somewhat gangly. He was kid, a teenager maybe a year or two younger than me. He summed me up with a look.

"You're kind of a big guy, aren't ya?" he asked.

There was something about his voice, something innately condescending and sarcastic. I've never heard anyone speak that way before at least not in person. Not on television either now that I think about it. It's totally unique to him.

"What are you doing here?"

Somehow my voice had lowered itself. Maybe it was because I was unsure of him. Was I trying to intimidate him? If I was then here's hoping that a throat full of gargled gravel sounds intimidating.

His tongue pops out of his mouth for a split second. I hear clicking sounds as it goes back inside. It's as if he's tasting the air.

"Seemed like a _nice_ place for a _quick_ smoke," he says, his voice whimsically emphasizing random words.

"Who are you?" I continue to growl.

My mother would be in hysterics if she knew there was a stranger on her property. She's probably rolling around in her grave as I speak.

"I am," he stops, his eyes wandering to the left, "Joseph! No, James. No, no, how about Jason? Do I strike you as a Jason?"

"I'm not kidding," I reply, "Tell me who you are."

He reaches into his coat and pulls out a carton of cigarettes. He takes one and lights it, ignoring my question.

"Who are you?" I ask again, my voice rising.

"I am," he pauses and smacks his lips, "an entity. A being. I am the...personification of all things happily desperate and miserable."

He takes a puff and holds the cigarette away from him, slightly disgusted before taking another puff.

"And I am in need of better cigarettes, wouldn't happen to have any would you?" he asks.

I walk straight up and smack the cigarette out of his hand. I don't know who he is or who he thinks he is but I'm not going to stand around and take his bull shit.

"Give me your name," I demand as I stand too close to him.

The guy rolls his eyes.

"That hardly seems fair," he points out, "If I give you my name what do I get?"

I get this sudden urge to hit him. I've never hit anyone ever but the desire to punch him wells up in me and my hand starts to make a fist.

"I'll give you _my_ name," I growl.

He seems pleased with this.

"I'm Jackson," he says with a little bow, "but I've gone by Joker for the past-uh-"

He pauses, his fingers flipping up and down as he chaotically counts.

"-five years," he concludes.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

Joker takes another drag.

"I used to be in the circus -used to meaning just this morning- but I quit."

"You've been in the circus for five years? But you're-"

"Fifteen," he says with a wide smile.

That's when I notice it. The sides of his face have longs scars going from his his cheek bones down to the corners of his lips. The urge to hit him disappears.

"What happened?" I ask as I point to the scars.

His tongue glides over his lip before he smacks them. Why does he keep doing it? Is it a nervous twitch? Or is because of the scars...?

"It's a funny story really," he begins, "You see I -uh- was about ten when I ran off to the circus and about week in I felt lonely and started crying. I cried all the time. Day and night. Well, I'm supposed to be a clown, right? So the boss guy tells me to quit crying but I can't. He threatens to beat me but for some reason I just start crying harder. So he decides to make to I don't look so sad-"

_Oh dear God._

"-and he takes his Swiss army knife and just drags it up the sides of my face like so-"

He mimics the movement. His voice is light and friendly as if he's telling a simple anecdote from his day. I take a step away from him. How can he talk like that?

"And now, even if I do cry, nobody'll notice! It was brilliant actually."

"...I'm so sorry," I say to him.

Joker shrugs, sees the bench a little across the way and has a seat. He pats the empty spot next to him and waves me over. I'm not so sure I want to follow but I do it anyway.

"So, you're a run away?" I ask.

"Cigarette?" Joker evades my question, holding the carton out to me.

I start to shake my head but he gives me a look. He raises his eyebrow, challenging me. I take a cigarette and he lights it for me. I choke as I try to take in the smoke.

"Don't try to swallow it!" he reprimands me, "Watch."

I watch him as he brings his cigarette to his lips.

"You take a little bit in," he sucks on the cigarette, "and then you let it out."

The smoke drifts away from his mouth. I almost feel like reaching up and touching it but I don't. I practice instead and slowly but surely I get acclimated to smoking. Well, as acclimated as five minutes of practice can get me.

"So what's a kid like you," Joker wonders, "doing in a place like this? I thought mansion were for old people and ghosts."

I get really quiet. I don't know how to respond but Joker is patient for my answer. I've never had to tell anybody about my life. I never talk to anybody.

"I live here with my butler, Alfred," I end up saying.

"A butler, huh?" Joker smiles, "Well la dee da."

"I live with him because my parents are dead."

It comes out as a flat and plain statement. It doesn't even hurt for me to say. I've been like this too long to be sad anymore.

I expect sympathy. I expect words of concern and an apology for my tragedy. I don't want it but I see it all the time on sitcoms and soap operas. How else would he respond?

"Mine too," Joker says, animated and turning towards me, "Small world, right?"

_Note to self, never ask "how else?"_

"I thought you were a run away."

"I am. I ran away from an orphanage to the circus and now I'm running away from the circus to- well the plan was to break into the creepy old mansion and squat for a bit but that's sort of scrapped now isn't it?"

I feel kind bad that I ruined his plans. He's a little strange but I like him in a way. He's different.

"Guess I better be going then," Joker says as as he stands up and discards his cigarette.

"Wait!"

I said it but I don't recall telling myself to say it. Joker looks at me questioning and I sit there awkward and scrambling for an explanation.

"You could," I stammer, "Stay here. For the night. There's more than enough room for you and I don't think Alfred would mind so-"

"Would you remember me?"

"Excuse me?"

Joker's looking at the ground and slowly he brings his gaze up to me.

"Would you remember me?" he repeats.

There's a ton of black makeup around his eyes. It makes it hard to see them but I find them anyway, staring straight into me.

"Of course I would," I answer, confused.

"I wish I could say that I believe you," he says as he walks back and sits beside me, "But if you remember me then you're going to remember a lot of things you won't like."

He sounds like a crazy person. Maybe he's just tired or depressed. I used say a lot of crazy things.

"I don't follow you."

He grabs my face and pulls it towards him. He kisses me on the mouth and I panic. I push him off me and he lands on his butt on the ground. My heart is beating in my ears and my face feels hot.

"What the hell!" I yell at him.

"Now do you remember me?" he asks casually, looking up at me.

I stand to my feet and back away.

"I'm disappointed in you, Bruce," Joker shakes his head.

"How do you know my name?"

"Because you told me it years ago but you don't remember do you?"

I take another step back. I've never met this guy before today. If I had then I'm pretty sure I would have remembered it. He's not exactly what one would call forgettable.

"You're-you're crazy."

"Well," Joker chuckles, "that makes two of us."

I turn to run from him. He must be mentally unstable. Who knows how long he's been out there? It isn't far fetched for him to know my name. I've been in a few tabloids here and there. Maybe he was a stalker. Alfred's removed one or two stalkers before.

"Ask Alfred!" Joker yells after me, "He'll make you remember! Ask him!"

I make it back inside. I shut and lock the door behind me. Alfred walks by me and comes to a stop.

"Master Bruce," he asks, his eyes filled with concern, "Are you all right?"

"There's a boy out there, Alfred!"

"A boy?"

"A boy with clown makeup and scars!"

A look flashes across Alfred's face. He approaches the door.

"Alfred, don't go out there!"

"I'm just going to have a look around, sir," he assures me, "I'll be fine."

I wait around impatiently for Alfred to return. Maybe he could talk sense into Joker. Joker? Was that even his nickname?

_What was his real name again... James? No that was fake._

Jesus, was anything he told me real?

Alfred returns looking confused.

"We should call the police," I say authoritatively.

Alfred shakes his head.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, sir," Alfred says as he closes the door, "but there's no one out there."

"What?"

"I looked everywhere and there wasn't a soul in sight," Alfred tells me.

I throw the door open and run back out to the garden. My breath is hard against my lungs as I search around every bush and tree. He wouldn't be difficult to spot. He's painted in such bright colors that the contrast should be obvious. If it wasn't for the thickness of all the dead around me it would be easier.

I hear a scream. It's high and abrupt. I run towards the direction of it.

"Help me!" the voice cries.

It sounds like a little boy. I run even faster. Did Joker have a boy with him? If not, could Joker make his voice sound that young?

"Somebody please!"

I come to a dead stop. There was an area of the garden that I never really go to and the scream had brought me there. In front of me is a collapsed pit. A pair of hands are holding on to an edge.

"Help!" the scream emerges from the pit.

There's a rustle in the bushes. A miniature version of Joker comes stalking out. I want to say something to him but my voice isn't working. The younger Joker is a kid with a round face. He doesn't have his older counterpart's exact wardrobe, purple pants and tie and a green vest. He was missing the purple coat but other than that it was more or less spot on.

I know I should be disturbed by this. I am but not as much as I should be. I see all sorts of strange things. I often see things like my mother and me from a younger age eating across the table from me or the two of us playing board games in front of the fireplace. It doesn't really phase me anymore. I know it's not normal but it doesn't seem to hurt anyone. The thing is that my hallucinations have always been my memories but I don't remember this.

I try to test out whether or not what's going on is real. I try to move but I'm motionless. I try to speak but I'm speechless. It is a hallucination.

"Help, Mom!" the boy cries from inside the pit, "Alfred!"

_Mom? Alfred?_

The kid Joker peers into the pit and sees the boy inside. He quickly backs away. The next thing I know I'm inside the boy's body. I'm the younger me hanging from inside the pit.

"Hello?" I call out, forced to play my part, "Is someone there? Help me, please! The ground caved in and I can't get out!"

A hand appears above me then its twin. I stretch to take hold of them. I dig my feet into the dirt trying to get a foothold and climb out. The dirt suctions in my feet but it seems to help. I can feel the arms aiding me tremble as they try to pull me up. I manage to scramble up and soon enough I am freed from my prison.

I'm on my hands knees as I try to recover. I crawl towards the pit and look into it. It's never ending and descends into blackness. I turn away and move as far away from it as possible.

I feel someone tap on my shoulder and I look up at my savior. It's a little clown boy with black rimmed eyes and a big red smile. He looks worried.

"All right?" he asks me quietly.

I look at him with a sense of wonder. Who is this clown boy who's come to my rescue?

"Who are you?"

The other boy suddenly seems frightened and starts to run away. I quickly get to my feet and chase after him.

"Wait!" I call out to him.

He stops and turns around slowly.

"I didn't get to say thank you!" I call again.

I approach him slowly. He's skittish and I don't want to scare him away. He looks to be about ten.

"It's okay," I try to calm him, "I just want to know your name so I can say thank you."

Eventually, I am close enough to reach out and touch him. He looks down at his feet. I think he's shy.

"Jackson," he says quietly.

"Jackson?" I repeat, "Is that your name?"

He nods and turns around quickly to run again.

"Wait!" I call again and grab his arm, "Please don't go."

He's still in my grasp.

"I won't tell anyone that you're here," I tell him, "Please don't go."

_I was so lonely..._

"Okay," his little voice manages to agree.

I smile at him.

"Would you like something to eat?" I ask.

He nods again and I begin to go towards the house, still holding him by the arm. He doesn't move and when I look back at him he shakes his head, his eyes wide.

"What's the matter?" I ask, "You don't want to go inside?"

He continues to shake his head. I let go of his arm and I think for a moment. It doesn't occur to me that there should be a reason he's hiding. I was just so excited to see another boy around my age. I was downright thrilled. It didn't matter what he looked like or why he was here. The point was that he was a boy near my age. He was someone to talk to and play with.

"I'll bring something to you then," I say, triumphant with my idea.

I excitedly head back towards the house but turn around for a quick moment.

"Thanks for saving me, Jackson!" I say to him.

I blink and I've returned to my own body. In front of me is the older, present day Jackson called Joker. He sits on the edge of the pit, his legs dangling into the darkness.

"Get away from there!" I shout automatically.

He looks up and smiles at me.

"You remember me now, Bruce?" he asks.

I sigh and approach him. I'm wary as I step near the pit. Joker laughs and smacks the ground hard.

"It's safe," he says, "I promise."

I sit down beside him but I sit cross legged. I don't want any part of me in that pit. Once was enough for me.

"We were friends," I piece together.

"Yup."

"A long time ago, you saved me and I hid you-"

"In that shack to be precise," Joker says as he pointed to the gardener's shack in the corner.

He was right. I remembered setting up a little bed for him and everything, stealing pillows and blankets from one of the guest bedrooms. I'd only eat half of whatever I was given and take what was left to him. It worked because my mother didn't like the garden much so she never followed me out there and Alfred was always too busy with one chore or another to keep tabs on me.

After the first few days, I got Jackson to start talking to me. He tended to speak in fragments, using as little words as possible and always quietly. He told me he'd ran away to the circus and that he didn't have parents. I told him how I didn't have a father or any friends. We told each other everything.

"Okay, I remember," I admit.

Joker smiles at me- should I call him Joker? He seems to prefer it but I don't remember him as Joker. I remember him as Jackson. Then again, it seems as if the years have taken huge liberties with his old personality. Perhaps Joker is better suited to him now.

"But how come I couldn't remember before?"

Joker shakes his head and pats my shoulder. I shy away from the contact. I know he and I used to be friends but we aren't now. It's like were meeting each other for the first time and not under the best of circumstances.

"Well," Joker says, shaking off my rejection with ease, "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

"I guess," I reply halfheartedly and still confused, "Joker, there's one thing I don't get though..."

"What's that Brucey boy?"

"Why did you kiss me?" I ask, emphatically stressing the word 'kiss' with disgust.

Joker throws his head back and laughs. It's almost frightening to me. I couldn't connect this boisterous new teenager with my old, shy childhood friend. It's as if they're two different people.

"Believe it or not," he says, a giggle still in his throat, "You used to be pretty fond of kissing me."

"You're joking?"

"Do I look like the kind of guy who jokes around?"

I take in his comical appearance from the purple suit to the painted face. I raise an eyebrow at him and gesture to his get up. He rolls his eyes again.

"That aside," he retorts, "I'm telling the truth. Or do I need to remind you?"

Before I can say no, he attacks me again. He's got me by the shirt collar and we dangerously balance over the edge of the pit. My heart is racing. If I try to push him off to free myself, I might end up pushing us straight into the pit. I can do nothing but let the pervert force himself on me.

I mumble muffled cries of resistance. His lips are pressed hard against mine. My hands are planted firmly into the ground trying to keep me safe from the darkness below. I've just got to endure it. Soon enough he'll realize how ridiculous this is and that I never-

He smells like paint, face paint. His lips are dried from it and I can feel it. He licks his lips not to try and further the kiss but because his lips are so chapped. I actually like the way he smells; like face paint...and cotton candy. I like how his lips are warm and the tip of his nose is cold. I like this.

"I like you," the young Jackson tells me as I'm transported into the past.

"I like you too, Jackson," I tell him, tousling his hair.

"How much?"

"A lot I guess," I answer.

Jackson looks at me like he's confused. He was expecting something more definitive or grand. I hurry to correct myself.

"Like I like you so much," I say, my mind searching for expressions I've heard to convey my feelings, "that if you were gone, I'd die."

Jackson frowns at me. Okay, so maybe that was not the right answer.

"That's sad," he points out, "Don't die."

"Well then, how do you want me to like you?"

Jackson pauses to think. He makes a cute face when he thinks. His lips purse a bit and he looks off to the left as if the answer is hiding there. His eyes grow wide and he smiles as he locates the value he wants from me. He tugs on my shoulder so that I face him. He leans over and gives me a quick kiss.

"Like that?" I ask, my eyes wide.

Jackson nods and then points to his own lips requesting that I show him that I understand. I take a deep breath. I'm nervous. I've never kissed anyone before except for my mother but mothers don't count. It doesn't occur to me that we're boys and boys don't kiss because it's never been an issue before. I lean over and downwards enough so my lips can make contact with his. He smells like face paint and cotton candy. His lips are dry.

I'm thrown back to the present. My grip on the dead grass has relaxed and my body has loss its rigid tension. My eyes have sunken closed. I'm actually enjoying this kiss.

Joker pulls away from me. His smile is softer. Memories pass in and out of my mind. There was the time I met him in the garden and he'd gathered a bouquet of weeds. There was the time I spent all morning making him one perfect cupcake (even though Alfred helped and ultimately took over). I would search through my toys and give him my favorites. I even found an old Christmas bow once and tied it around my favorite train. I used to read him my old picture books. Jackson didn't know how to read so I read to him. We'd hole up in his makeshift bed and sit down together with a few of my old stories. I'd have an arm over him or he'd sit in my lap.

We did lots of stuff that normal little boys did. We ran and yelled. We played with trains and cars. We played soldiers, cowboys and Indians, and hide and go seek. But...we did a lot of other things that normal little boys didn't do like holding hands, cuddling when reading stories and kissing each other goodnight.

"We were quite the pair, weren't we?" Joker asks, breaking me from my memories.

I feel my ears getting hot and turning red. He and I didn't know any better then. Now we're, more or less, grown up. I know now that what we did is taboo.

"Tell me, Brucey," Joker asks, "Do you still like me now?"

Brucey. Jackson used to call me that when we were kids. It sounds strange coming from Joker but-

_Did he just ask me if I still like him?_

The hotness spreads from my ears to my cheeks. How do I answer that? I don't dislike Joker and that kiss back there was- not terrible but I don't know Joker.

"You don't, do you?"

"Joker," I try to find a way to soften the blow, "I don't really know you anymore."

"Fine," he says as if I had merely declined an invitation to lunch.

I immediately want to take back what I said. I do like him in a way but I'm not so sure that he and I could ever be what we were especially now that we're this old. If my mother was alive she certainly would not pleased with all this.

Joker stands up and dusts himself off.

"I should get going then," he says.

I jump up to my feet. I may be unsure of myself but I don't want him to leave. He was my friend after all. He was my first friend. He was my only friend.

"Wait-"

"No, really," Joker says as a matter of fact, "I need to get going. But Bruce?"

I look him in the eyes. He's got my full attention.

"Can we say goodbye the way we used to? For old times sake?"

I nod without hesitation. I should have hesitated but I didn't. I'll give him anything he wants. He was my friend and for the longest time I have very much wanted a friend.

I come closer to him. Awkwardly, my hands find their way to his torso. He reaches up and rests his hands on my shoulders. This isn't how we used to do it. Back in the day it was a quick peck without the mess of arms and hands and holding. I don't bother to say this though. It's not all that important.

I take a deep breath to prepare myself. Joker's tongue takes a shy, nervous lick to his bottom lip. Neither of us are moving in to close the deal. I look at him questioningly.

"...I'm scared," he says quietly.

_There you are_ I think as one of my hand reaches up and cups his chin.

I tilt his face upwards and I plant my lips against his.

It doesn't feel the same as when we were kids. It's different. When we were younger, we were innocent but I'm not innocent like that anymore. I want more from him maybe not in a sexual way but in a spiritual way. I want to know him. I want to be close to him. I want him to stay with me here.

I prolong the kiss for what feels like forever. I know the moment that I let go is the moment he leaves and I really- I really don't want to be alone again.

Joker takes a step back from me. He licks his lips and looks to the ground but not so quickly that I can't see that he's got tears in his eyes. How long has he been looking for me? How long has he remembered me? How could I have ever forgotten him? He was my first and only friend.

_He's my first and only love too._

"Good night," he says softly.

I want to tell him that he doesn't have to go but my voice won't let me.

"Good night," I say back.

Joker puts his left foot out and over the endless pit of black. I look at him half confused and half terrified.

"What are you-"

Joker steps over and disappears into the black.

My body lunges for him but stops when I get to the edge of the pit. I drop to my knees and stare into the pit, praying that it's not as deep as it looks.

"Joker!" I scream after him, "Joker!"

There's no response. There's not even the sound of him hitting the bottom. It's just the echo of my own voice coming back to me and the thud of my heartbeat in my ears.

"JOKER!" I scream as tears well in my eyes, "JACKSON!"

There's a giggle. A child's giggle and a rustle in the bushes. I brush the tears from my face.

"Jackson?" I ask, hoping for a miracle, "Is that you?"

There's another giggle and rustle. I get up and decide to go towards it but I glance back at the pit. Joker's still down there, isn't he? I should get help.

I hear the dead branches on the bush in front of me part. I turn back to look at what's making them do that and I see the younger version of Jackson peering at me. My eyes grow wide.

_How is this-_

The young boy smiles at me and then runs off into the distance. With no other choice, I go after him. I can hear his laughter ringing in my ears. He's constantly ahead of me no matter how fast and hard I run.

_What's going on?_

I finally come out of the thick garden of dead to a clearing. I see Jackson running up to a bench and looking under it. There's the younger version of myself hiding there. The young me comes out of hiding and tackles Jackson playfully. They tussle for a bit and I watch, panicking and unsure of what to do.

I look to my left and right for options and that's when I see her...my mother.

She's watching from behind a tree. She watches as young me and Jackson come out of our playful tussle and Jackson kisses my old self on the cheek. I can see the look of horror come across her face and then an expression I can only describe as...hateful.

"Mom," I try to speak to her even though I know she can't hear me, "Mother! Please, you don't understand! I had no idea!"

I follow her as she storms into the house. The moment I enter the mansion, I am transported to the hallway by the front door. I'm back inside my twelve-year-old body as I hide in the door frame, eavesdropping on a conversation between my mother and some strangers at the door.

"So have you seen him, m'am?" a clown hiccups.

"I can't say I've harboring him," my mother answers, her voice dripping with venom, "But I've noticed that there's something in my garden. Feel free to search it and take whatever vermin you find with you."

There's something secretive about her voice. It's like she's not saying what she means.

_Because she's **not** saying what she means! She knows, you idiot! She knows!_

Nonetheless, I scramble to get to the garden as quickly and quietly as I can. I have to keep my friend safe. I have to protect him.

I make it out to the garden but it's too late. The clown man has found Jackson and has him by the collar. In the clown man's other hand is a bottle of dark liquid. I'm not entirely sure what it is but I've seen my mother with it before. Every time she drinks it she gets sad, then angry and then sleepy.

_Because she's drunk! That man is drunk! Jackson's in danger!_

I go to run after him and call out to him but Jackson sees me and puts a finger to his lips. I nod even though I don't understand. The clown man continues to holler and scream at Jackson who shuts his eyes tight.

The man's bottle is empty so he breaks it on top of Jackson's head. I gasp and cover my mouth. My legs want to run to get help. Jackson falls to his knees but he's not out just yet. He look at me as blood starts to pour onto his forehead. He shakes his head slowly and puts his fingers to his lips again.

"Tell me to hush!" the man bellows, his words slurred "I'll teach you some damn manners!"

The man takes off his belt and wraps it around his fist with the buckle resting on his knuckles. He hits Jackson in the face and Jackson falls flat on his back.

_No! Stop it!_

The man picks him up and slams him against a tree trunk. He slams him into a few more times. Jackson looks like a little rag doll as the man hits him across the face again.

_Stop it! Stop hurting him! God damn it!_

The man drops Jackson and he slides down to sitting in front of the tree. The man sees the broken bottle on the ground and picks it up.

"You know something, kid?" he slurs, "You don't even fucking smile! You're a clown! You need...to smile."

He takes the bottle and starts carving into Jackson's face. He carves a bloodied smile right into him. His grin goes from crayon red to blood crimson. The man suddenly seems lost in his actions and then shoves the broken bottle into Jackson's stomach.

"STOP IT!" I scream at the top of my lungs, my voice finally functioning.

I run up to the man and Jackson. I am terrified to my core and my legs feel like they're going to give out at any second. I put myself in between the man and Jackson and cross my arms in front of my face.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I scream to the man.

The man seems confused. He looks at me real hard for a moment. He looks back to the mansion and then starts trudging towards it.

I wait until he's disappeared. I turn around and drop to my knees to inspect Jackson. His face is so bloodied that I can barely recognize it.

"Jackson...?" I beg, "Jackson?"

I can't get a good enough look at him. There's too much of his blood and my tears in the way. I brush a lock of hair away from his face. It's thick and full of blood. I recall some of the doctor shows I've watched in the past. I shakily reach my fingers up to Jackson's neck and press them against it.

There's nothingness. No beat. No thud. No pulse.

"Jackson?" I ask again.

His eyes are open and aimless. They're looking through nothing at nothing and there's nothing behind them.

I am desperate to wake him up. I remember the fairy tale stories from the picture books. Snow White woke up with a kiss and so did Sleeping Beauty. I never liked stories as a kid but Jackson loved them.

I find Jackson's mouth and press mine to it. I feel sick as I taste blood but I push myself through it.

"Wake up!" I cry as I pull away.

I give him another.

"Wake up!" I scream before trying again, "Please wake up!"

"Bruce!" my mother yells to me, "You come inside now!"

"Mom-" I'm crying so hard that it's hard to breathe, "Jackson's- he's-"

"I said inside!" she repeats, "Now!"

I can't tear myself away from him. My mother comes out to fetch me. She grabs my arms and starts dragging me towards the house.

"NO!" I scream as my feet dig into the ground.

I have to stay with him. If I don't then he might wake up and I won't know it. He has to wake up. He has to.

_He can't._

My mother drags me back to the house as I cry, kick, and scream. The clown man is behind her and he walks up to Jackson.

"No!" I shout at him, "Don't touch him! DON'T TOUCH HIM!"

"What should I do with this?" he asks my mother as if he was asking what to do with a bag of garbage.

"LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I scream again, my arms struggling to get free of my mother.

"I don't know!" she yells back to him, "I don't care! Throw him in a lake! A river! A dumpster! Just don't leave him here!"

I watch as the man picks up my best friend like a lifeless doll and disappears with him into the night. My mother eventually gets me into the house and once more the scenery changes.

I've returned to my own, teenage body but I'm not back in the present yet. It's cold and dark. I squint to try and make out my surroundings and then I recognize exactly where I am. I'm in the alleyway. The one my mother was murdered in.

My mother and my younger self turn the corner. I have this dead look on my face. I remember. I didn't speak after seeing what happened to Jackson. I don't look at anything in particular. I just zone out into the distance with a look of eternal death on my face.

"That was a fun movie, wasn't it Bruce?" my mother tries to engage me but to no avail, "I can be fun, honey. I can be loads of fun, right? You and I? All we need is each other."

We continue walking down the alleyway.

"Did Alfred park here?" she says, lost, "I don't remember coming down here..."

My mother glances at me and frowns. My hand is lifeless as she holds it to guide me. An attempted smile comes across her face.

"I love you, Bruce," she says, "You know that your mom loves you right?"

For some reason I nod but it's robotic and without joy. So mother loves me? Yes, I know that.

"I wish you'd smile," she sighs.

My mother looks to her left and gasps. She covers my eyes and pulls me up towards the wall.

"My God!" she says as she breathes heavily, "Okay, okay. Keep calm. Bruce, we're going to walk away very carefully."

My mother tried to cover my eyes. She tried to but I can see through her fingers. There is a dead woman propped up against the wall across from us. She has the same doll like expression on her face as Jackson did but she has a knife in her stomach.

I can feel this terrible pain overcome my gullet as I watch my mother try to shelter the younger me. The pain twists and turns inside me and I feel like I'm going to retch.

"Help," the younger me says quietly.

"Help?" my mother asks, "No, honey, in a situation like this, we run away."

"But the woman," the younger me's voice is still monotone.

"No, Bruce," my mother tells me, "She doesn't matter now. You and I need to go now. Only we matter."

_Only we matter?_

The pain from my stomach shoots up to my head. My ears are ringing as I watch what's happening.

_Only we matter?_

The younger me pushes my mother off of him. She's caught off guard and falls over. He walks up to the dead woman and takes the knife out of her stomach.

"Only we matter," the younger me says.

"Bruce? What are you doing? Put that down!"

"I've noticed that there's something in my garden. Feel free to search it and take whatever vermin you find with you," he's quoting her and as he does his voice grows dark.

My other self comes closer to my mother with the knife. He holds it up in front of her.

"Bruce?" my mother is terrified, "Honey, please put that down!"

"I don't care! Throw him in a lake! A river! A dumpster! Just don't leave him here!" he shouts at her and then strikes her across the arm.

My mother howls as the knife tears into her flesh. He takes another stab at her.

"No!" I shout to my younger self but he can't hear me.

"Only we matter!" he shouts at her, "Just us! You! AND! ME!"

_Oh God._

_No! No! Please!_

_Stop it! Stop it!_

_I can't breathe. I can't breathe!_

My younger self pulls my mother's shirt over her head, cuts her bra strap, and then slashes at her chest. She starts trying to fight back but he punishes her by digging the knife deeper. There's blood all over his hands and my mother's torso. My younger self is crying despite the rage on his face.

_I did this._

My mother is dazed as the younger me pulls her shirt back. She's not gone yet but she's getting close. There's hate burning in the back of his eyes as he pins the point of the knife under her throat.

"Mother loves you," he hisses, his eyes filled with tears.

He slams the knife into my mother's throat and we both watch as she chokes to death on her own blood. My younger self reaches down to the pol of blood around her. He dips a finger in it and draws a smile across his face.

"I really wish you'd smile," he says before sobbing.

_I was the one who- who-_

"Killed her?" a familiar voice says.

A silhouette appears in the background and slowly comes into focus.

"Joker...?"

"For your viewing pleasure," he says with a slight bow.

The original scene has gone silent but I see Alfred find the twelve-year-old me in the alleyway. He grabs him by the shoulder and the boy drops the knife and buries his face into Alfred's torso as he cries.

"The old man covered up for you," Joker explains casually, "Guess he felt like jail on top of everything else would have been the end of you."

"It should have," I say to him, feeling much more than convicted.

"Oh come now, she _was_ a bitch."

I can't say anything to that but I suddenly feel like all of this isn't real. It's just a bad dream. A terrible dream that I need to wake up from.

"She deserved to die," Joker points out, "I, on the other hand did not."

"This isn't real," I whisper.

"Why did you let him hurt me, Bruce?" he asks.

"This is not who I am."

"Oh yes it is," he laughs as his voice grows dark, "You're a spineless coward who let his best friend get murdered-"

"This is not real!" I shout.

"-and you're basket case who killed his mommy!"

"I did not kill my mother! You're not my best friend!" I shout as my mind searches for reality, "I'm not even a teenager! I'm a grown man! I am a hero!"

"A hero!" Joker cackles as his face begins to morph.

"I fight crime because both my parents were murdered by a criminal!"

Joker continues to laugh at me but his voice drops and his face ages.

"I am not Bruce!"

Scarecrow stands before me, enjoying the last few moments of my torture.

"I am-" I finally wake up, "Batman."

Scarecrow tilts his head to the side.

"This new serum does wonders doesn't it?" he asks me.

I'm restrained down to a bed and there's I.V in my arm. I struggle under the restraints but I'm still to weak to break free.

"How many-" I breathe heavily as I ask, "How many times have you put me under?"

Scarecrow glances down at a pad of paper and does some quick math in his head.

"This is your fourth time waking up," he calculates, "Which is really a pity, your friend over there has already woken up several times now. He's strong but I will break him."

I crane my neck to the left and I see Joker fidgeting in a sleep state. He's my enemy but - and this may be the last dream talking- I feel sorry for him. Joker's a real pyscho when it comes to it. I can only imagine the kind of demons he's hiding in there let alone ones that Scarecrow can make up for him.

I tug harder on my restraints. Joker looks like he's in a lot of pain. If I can manage to free myself then I can take out Scarecrow and rescue Joker.

"How sweet," Scarecrow notes, "You know, the both of you mumble in your sleep. You always dream about each other. 'Bats', 'Batsy' he says and 'Joker' I hear you going. I question what it is that's going on in there. Well perhaps another dose will provide the answer."

Scarecrow injects something in the I.V bag. I struggle again and look towards Joker.

"Joker!" I grunt, "Joker, wake up! Joker...wake..up..."

My father has got a hold of me again. He slams me against the wall as he demands to know where all his whiskey has gone. I don't know. I never know. I think my brother sneaks a couple here and there but if I say that then my father will go after him.

_Dad...please don't! I don't know! I don't know where they are!_

I close my eyes tight as his fist makes contact with my nose. If I close my eyes tight enough then I can pretend that this is all a dream and then I can wake up.

_Wake up..._

_Wake up.._

**A/N: Well that ended...kind of sad. Well, in my mind Batman eventually wakes up, frees himself, beats up Scarecrow, and rescues Joker. Batsy and Joker then proceed to have good, good tasty times. ;D I hope you guys liked it anyway.**


	2. Monster

**A/N: Even though I said it was going to be a one shot...I LIED. :D This is from Joker's point of view. Be prepared children. O.o**

"Come now, Jay!" Sister Prudence says as she grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd.

I blush at her grabbing my wrist. Christ, I am seventeen aren't I? Is it so wrong for me to want to look at the the lions a little longer? what is with this woman?

Sister Prudence doesn't release her iron grip as she continues to drag me through a sea of people despite my protesting. I look at the big top with disgust. It smells of animal feces and burnt popcorn. God, I hate people.

I feel even more embarrassed as Sister Prudence forces me to sit next to her. She takes the last seat on the end. To my right is Sister Prudence and to my left is all the other snot nosed kids that belong to the orphanage. Emily looks up to me and sticks her tongue out. I frown at her and grab her tongue harshly between my thumb and forefinger.

"Ssstrrr Poodince!" she manages to say as I grip her tongue.

The nun gives me a disapproving look.

"Wipe that smirk off of your face, Jay," she growls.

I bring the back of my hand up to my mouth and pretend to wipe it off.

"Sorry, Sister," I say as I put more pressure on Emily's tongue, forcing her to start crying and trying to pull away, "it seems you were right, my face finally froze this way."

"Jay!" she whispers loudly, trying not to make a scene, "You let go of Emily this instant! For goodness sake, she's only eight! You're twice her age and you know better. What would the good Lord say?"

I reluctantly release my hostage but then smirk back again as I look back to the nun.

"Why are you asking me, Prudence? Between the two of us I'd think you'd be the one to know."

Sister Prudence spends the rest of the show glaring at me now and then. i ignore her and her icy stare and her strong perfume. She's gotten fatter over the years but she's always been a sturdy woman. She's got man hands, unpainted finergnails and face where her age is starting to show. She must be in her forties by now. I look away from her quickly. She doesn't deserve for me to pay this much attention to her, stupid old broad.

I try to pay attention to the circus but everything feels so predictable. When I was younger, I used to love the orphanage's trip to the circus but after you've seen it so many times, you get bored of it. Seventeen years of the same walls, the same trips, the same days, the same circus. It gets old.

Emily suddenly elbows my side as the crowd goes wild for the clowns. I glare at her. She's so annoying. For the record, she's nothing like a little sister. She tries to be but she's not. She all blonde haired and blue eyed. She acts like an angel around everyone but I know the truth about her. She hates everyone at the orphanage, from me to the other kids to the nuns. She does things like spitting in the food and breaking the other kids toys. Not that I care much about what she does to others. Hell, if anything more power to the little bitch but you don't mess with me. Ever.

I grab the back of her head and push her straight forward. She propels down and smacks her face into the back of another kid's head. The crowd progressively gets less wild in our immeadiate area as Emily lets out a banchee scream for the ages. I giggle a little at it. Sister Prudence rushes to her aid and lifts her up. Blood is spurting out of Emily's nose. I think I might have broken it.

Excellent.

I book it before Prudence can get all high and mighty on me and put her hands on me again. Besides, she can't chase me down and drag me by the hand when she's got an injured bitch in her arms. Not that she wouldn't try. You'd think she'd get tired of it but she doesn't.

I make it outside in the ensuing panic. I'm pretty sure I'll get caught eventually but that's the point, _eventually_. For now, I mosey on outside pretending the dank and damp smelling air is as fresh as the freedom I crave.

Who does that old bird think she is anyway? Dragging me everywhere, watching me all the time and telling me what to do? She's always in my face about growing up and becoming a man and helping with the children. She gives me a harder time than anybody else and you'd think with our history that the bitch would back off.

I don't want to help take care of children. Yes, the system has fed me all these years and housed me and that's all great and fine but I do not feel indebted in the least. I didn't ask to put in that Catholic Christian vortex and honestly, I tried to get out at every turn and corner. I think all those little fuckers would be better off in the streets anyway. Hell, I'd be there myself if the damn cops didn't keep returning me.

Of course, I did like something about the orphanage for a while but that was all gone now.

I look up for a moment. I've come near the edge of the circus grounds. I look to my left. Nothing but random tents. I look to my right. More tents and a-

There's a figure. Watching me. It's black with two long points coming out of its head and its eyes shine in the dark.

"Hello there," I call out to it.

The figure doesn't move. I wave a little to it. A hand appears from behind the tent. It waves back to me.

"Well, come on out," I coax it.

The figure shakes its head no.

"Shy?" I call again.

The figure suddenly darts behind the tent.

"Hey! Wait!" I yell.

I chase after him...it I mean. I don't know that it's a him. It could be a her. I hope it's a him.

The black figure darts and moves quickly. It takes a lot for me to keep up with him but I manage to keep a few paces behind. I reach my hand out, close enough to touch him. He's dressed in all black. He has a cape fluttering behind him. Fluttering just an inch from my reach. What's a guy around my age and height doing running about in cape and a...mask I guess? The two pointy tips of it bounce a bit as he runs. One's shorter than the other, chewed up and broken off it looks like.

"Can we stop running now?" I ask him as I continue to chase him.

I don't even know why I'm chasing him. Do I have a reason to?

...no, I guess I don't but I run after him anyway.

He suddenly ducks into a hole in one of the tents. It's a small tent and the inside is completely dark. Black seems to eke out of the tattered fabric. I pause, briefly wondering if this is a good idea.

I look back behind me for a moment. All that awaits me back there is being reprimanded, being taken back to the same four walls and living with the unwanted and the hypocrytical. That and it smells like animal shit outside. So my options are go back to shit or step in headfirst into the dark to chase after the...what is he anyway? A bat?

I go into the the hole of the circus tent. It's almost pitch black inside. I can see the barely there figures of my own hands as I bring them up to my face. I wonder for a moment what's supposed to be in here and then another pair of hands emerges from the dark and seizes my own by the wrists.

"Bat guy?" I ask, holding very still, "Is that you?"

I can hear him breathing. It's a little heavy. I'm breathing hard too. We must have been running pretty fast and I still don't understand why.

"Bat guy?" I ask again, my voice breathy as I regain myself.

He's holding onto my wrists tight. It reminds me of Sister Prudence for a second but I quickly brush her from my mind. I don't want to think about nuns or orphanages right now. I just want to be here in the dark with this stranger. Whatever that entails, it's better than going back out there.

"I know you," a voice says.

It's deeper than I expected. It's not quite adult but it's certainly nowhere near boyish. It rides on the verge quite attractively.

"Really?" I ask, my nasily intonation paling in comparison, "Who am I then?"

The other guy releases my hands. I almost want to reach out and find his again. It's like he's disappeared from me and suddenly I feel lost and terribly alone.

"You're...scared," he says slowly.

I laugh a bit.

"Scared? Hardly. It take more than a little dark to-"

"Not of the dark. Of the walls. You don't like the walls."

It feels like the air int he room got heavier. I struggle to breathe it in.

"What are talking about?"

"Walls closing in on you. Living alone. Dying alone. Eaten by the walls."

I take a step back and eye the dim light peering from the entry. I shouldn't have come in here. There's something wrong about this place. There's something so wrong.

"Who are you?" I ask angrily.

"I won't let them, Jay. I won't let them eat you. Not alone. They can take us together."

My mouth drops a little and I turn to run back outside but a hand shoots out and grabs my wrist forcefully.

"Jay!" the stranger yells at me as I struggle.

"Let go! I've had enough!" I scream.

"Jay, don't go. We've found each other! Don't leave now."

I thrash at him. He can't be real. No, he can't be. This has be a joke. A lesson set up by Prudence to teach me to behave. Or at least teach me to stay in my place.

"I'll kill that bitch for this! Let me go, you psycho!"

He grabs my other hand depsite my struggle and pulls me close to him. He's so strong. I still pull away, pushing my feet into the dirt to try and put distance between us. He drags me closer to the light and I can see him more. He is wearing a mask. His chest is bare and he's so pale. He's so fucking pale.

"Do you not belong to me anymore, Jay?" he asks me.

I get dead quiet. I look at him with harsh eyes. His own eyes look back at me, a couple of icy blues. I know the flecks of color in his eyes, the different shades of the calming color. They're all exactly where I remember them. Exactly as I remember them.

"...Ben?" I ask.

He releases one of his hands and brings it up to his mask. He pulls it off slowly, the poorly stitched fabric lolling off his head in this and that direction.

Ben looks at me, just as pale and sickly and beautiful as I remember him. I can feel myself resist the urge to tear up. My God, I thought I'd never see him again.

Ben was an older boy at the orphanage, not by much but still older. He arrived when I was sixteen and he was seventeen. A year ago. Was it really such a short time? I remember first seeing him and thinking, _what the hell kind of cancer does this shmuck have?_

Ben didn't smile much and didn't talk to anyone. He had a lot of private sessions with the priest. The nuns were always praying for him and whenever someone crossed paths with Ben, they'd do the old signing of the cross bit. Eventually, he came out of those secret rooms and meetings and managed to bunk down witht he rest of the unwanted, specifically with me.

Seeing him in my room was surreal. He was sitting on the top bunk, shirtless. He had muscles, toned and small on his body but he was so pale, so tranluscent white that he almost looked like a ghost. But that wasn't the worst of it. What really got everyone was his shoulder blades. They seemed to jut out of him. It wasn't too severe but it was definitley noticable.

"So, what the hell are you doing here?" I asked him casually, "Aren't you supposed to be out getting healed or are they trying to exorcise you?"

I remember him looking up at me. His eyes were so bright and light blue. It was like looking at the sky. No, the sky had never been that clear and cruel. I don't know what came over me but suddenly wished my tongue wasn't so sharp and my ass wasn't so smart.

"I live here now," he said flatly.

He wasn't angry with me. He wasn't annoyed or irritated. It was like he saw through wasn't depressed but distant. He was so flat line I wondered if he _was_ dead.

"Okay," I mumbled stupidly as I walked over to my own bed.

Our beds were just a few feet apart. Four steps and bam, you were at your neighbor's domain. I never shared my room with anyone. I tended to make other kids cry but there was something different about Ben.

The first few weeks were awkward for me. He was always there, sitting up and hunched over, his shoulder blades trying to creep over him or he was face down on the bed, the abominations popping out of his back like spiteful cave formations.

I did everything I could to stave off the inevitable but one night, it came. I sat up in bed and realized for the hundredth time that I would be stuck in this same room for the rest of my life, just another unwanted face shoved into a church and screamed at to find salvation. I was going to die here. I was going to die as nothing and no one. Alone.

The anxiety was overwhelming. I couldn't breathe and the breath I managed to take in and out sounded shallow and broken. My hands shook and before I knew it, I had tears rolling down my face.

_God, I'm going to die. These walls are going to eat the space I take up and then I'll be nothing. Nothing._

"Please don't eat me. Please don't eat me. Please don't me." I chanted in a whisper as I tried to calm down.

_I don't want to die. I don't want to be eaten alive. I _am_ alive! I exist!_

"Please don't eat me. Please don't eat me. Please don't eat-"

"I realize that I look a little monstrous, but you _are_ old enough to realize that I'm not a monster right?" Ben asked suddenly, his voice clear and cutting into the silence I felt arpund me.

My motto disappeared and suddenly my breath got shorter and choppier. I'd been caught. There'd be no riding this episode out. I'd never been caught before.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Ben asked.

"I-I'm going to die," I said, despite my desire to stay quiet.

"Die?"

"The walls- the walls are going to eat me."

I could hear Ben russle in his covers. He was probably moving up to his sitting position, forcing those bones to further crack out of porcelain skin, breaking with each move.

"Eat you?" he asked again, his voice surprisingly serious, almost investigative.

"Because I'm just space. I'm only space and soon the walls will cl-close in and I'll be nothing. I am nothing."

I curled into a ball and began sobbing and choking all at once. I felt like it was happening right then. I was being eaten alive.

"You're not nothing," Ben said quietly.

I almost didn't hear him. The words barely registered.

"I live for nothing and I exist for no one," I managed to get out.

All I could hear was the reverberation of the house's quiet and the choppiness of my own breathing. There was nothing Ben could say to that. He knew I was right. We were all nothing. We were all unwanted.

"I don't belong to anybody," I cried high as I buried my face in my knees.

That's when I heard it. An interruption in the normalcy of my attack. A soft thud on the floor. It was gentle but purposeful. Then there was a second. Then a third. Finally a fourth and then there were these two arms, pale ghost arms with muscle and warmth on them. They wrapped around my shoulders as I felt the weight on my bed shift.

"You can belong to me," Ben said quietly as he rested his head in the dip of my shoulder, "You can exist for me."

I didn't know what to say. Would anybody know what to say? I just reached up and touched my hand against his. He curled fingers around mine and held them.

"I'll show you how," Ben said softly.

I felt his lips against the side of my neck. They were warm and little wet but soft. He looked so ghostly but he was so warm. He looked like death itself what with his bone disease and everything and yet he felt so alive. He turned me around to face him. Even in the dark of the night his eyes shone clearer and brighter than any sky I've ever seen.

"You belong to me and I'll belong to you." he said, staring into me, "And we'll exist for this."

Ben gently put his hands on my face and pulled it close to his. His lips pressed against mine softly. My heart rate slowed and suddenly I felt like I could breathe again. The more he kissed me, the more I could breathe. The more he touched me the more I was alive. The more love we made over that year, the more I existed and belonged. I never knew that touch could be so healing, so necessary.

"Ben," I say as I rest one of my hands on his face.

He closes his eyes for a moment and kisses my palm.

Oh, we belonged to each other, up until the moment we were torn apart.

It was two weeks before Ben's birthday. He'd be turning eighteen and we both knew that meant he had to leave. Of course, the orphanage had a system for that. They'd find him a job and a place to stay but after that he was on his own. I was a little scared for him though I'd never say so.

To be honest, I was more afraid for myself. I still had a year left here before I had my shot at freedom. What was I going to do without Ben? How could I bear this place without him? The past year had been more than tolerable to me. Sure, I'd survived without Ben before but he was- he'd become- my everything. What was going to happen to me without him?

I became hasty and my thirst to be close to him was unquenchable. We were careful in the year that we were together. We had to be. If anybody found out- well it was a religious institution, it's not that hard to figure out.

But I wanted him at every turn and corner. I had to be close to him, to touch him and kiss him and make love to him all that I could before he had to leave me. He didn't deny me either. He was just as desperate. We knew our time together was coming to an end.

The end came too soon.

"Jay?" Sister Prudence shouts as she looks into the tent.

I turn around, just as panicked that she's discovered us now as when she'd discovered us then.

Ben and I were in the middle of making love. He'd promised to come back for me soon after he left. He'd try to adopt me and if that didn't work he'd help me escape the place for good. He told me that he was looking to move up north for cheaper medication and to meet a doctor who said he might be able to help with his problem. We were going to live together in a little apartment. New walls. God, I'd never been so happy in my life. I had my reason for being, I had the love of my life, and I was going to have new walls. Ones that protected me and served me instead of trying to suffocate me.

Ben had just climaxed inside of me and I spilled out as well when the door swung open and Sister Prudence began screaming. That's how my and Ben's last together ended, with Sister Prudence screaming and screeching and throwing Ben outside of the room.

They never helped him get a job. They never got him another place to live. They threw him out and with him, they threw out everything I was and everything I might have been.

"Ben?" Sister Prudence asked with shock.

Ben quickly ducked into the dark but I reach out at the last second. I grabbed a hold of his cape and gripped it with all my might just as Sister Prudence came in a grabbed me. She dragged me out of the tent and I dragged Ben, holding on for dear life.

"I won't let you go!" I yelled as he struggled.

"Jay, we're leaving now!" Prudence commanded.

"No!"

"I said now! Let's go!"

"NO!"

We all fell into the light, the three of us. It seemed to blind me, brighter than circus light should be. I rubbed my eyes and tried to focus. I needed to find Ben. I looked to my left and saw Prudence with a look of horror across her round face.

She screamed and pointed behind me. I turned and felt myself jump back.

"Ben?" I asked.

Ben's cape had been torn in the fall and now his shoulders were exposed for the world to see. Ben never moved up north. He never got cheap meds. He never saw that doctor.

Ben's shoulder blades- no, something came out from where his shoulders used to be. They're bulky and gnarled looking, sharp in places and stretching that pale albino flesh. They're other worldy. They're surreal. They almost look like wings but-

"Demon!" Sister Prudence shrieks as she grabs hold of me.

I back away a little myself out of shock. Prudence holds me close against that sturdy body of hers. She smells like flowery perfume. Nuns aren't supposed to wear perfume and I pull away from her soft breast and her abundant stink.

Slowly Ben looks over his shoulder and straight at me. I can see his face, molded with bold lines. His cheeks look a little hallow. His eyes are so blue. So fucking blue.

"Ben..." I cry softly.

"Demon! Help!" Sister Prudence continues to scream.

Suddenly a man appears and seizes Ben harshly by the arm.

"Who let you out of your cage!" he yells, "I've told you a hundred times not to wander around! You'll scare the kids! You're the nighttime, late night, freak show, damn it! Why don't you ge that!"

The man, Ben's handler I'm assuming, gruffly takes the mask Ben's been holding onto and forcefully puts it back over Ben's head.

"That man is a demon!" Sister Prudence cries to the man.

I take a step towards Ben and Prudence grabs me harsh by the shoulders.

"Do not be tempted, Jay!" she commands me, "That is an abomination!"

I am so fucking sick of her. I fucking hate her and that she keeps grabbing me and holding me. Like she can keep me. Abomination. Yeah, right. She would know plenty about abonimation, wouldn't she? Always touching me. Not like she used to but still touching me. She knows I'm too old for her games now. She can't smile at me and promise me candy if I follow all her directions. She can't make me touch her but she still tries to hold a grip on me. Always trying to hold me and smother me and make me belong to her.

I'd rather be empty space than belong to her.

I turn and grab her fingers. I start to bend them backward and she begins yelping. I'm not twelve anymore. I can overpower her now. I'm not a little boy anymore.

I hear a snap and she begins screaming. I'm not satisfied. I keep pulling them backwards even as she tries to fight me. The man is yelling at me to stop but I ignore him. Her fingers spurt blood and suddenly the man tackles me.

He's a heavy guy but he's not much bigger than me. We roll around as we fight. I manage to land a cheap shot. A roll up quickly and see a shovel off to side of the tent. Prudence is still screaming. She's fallen to her knees and is holding her broken, bloodied fingers to the helm of her dress.

The man begins to plead with me but I don't care. Nobody talks to Ben that way. Nobody treats him like an animal, like a freak! I bring the shovel up high for a swing as Ben watches.

I black out.

I feel exhausted as I come to. I don't have the shovel anymore. I'm facing Ben. I'm looking straight at him as I breathe heavily. I feel like I've just had an anxiety attack. I take a step towards him, we're only a few steps apart, but he takes a step back. His eyes are wide and brows are furrowed. He doesn't look scared exactly. He looks-

"What are you?" Ben asks.

"I'm...I'm Jay," I answer, a little confused.

"Look," Ben says as he points behind me.

I turn slowly, so slowly.

The man is dead, his face beaten beyond recognition. Prudence is laying face up, a shovel protruding from her stomache and _all_ of her fingers are broken and bleeding.

I can't breathe. This can't be real. This couldn't have happened.

"You're a monster," Ben says as I quickly turn away form the scene and back to Ben.

"No!" I say, "I'm not! I- I had to! I had to do it!"

"No, Jay! You killed them! You tortured them!" he raised his voice, icy and full of disgust.

"I-I-" I look back at the victims, it was more than self defense, anyone could see that, "-I'm only human, Ben! I had too!"

"No, you wanted to. You're a fucking monster." he scrutinzes.

I look at him and the large, batlike wings on his back. The fleshly extensions are disturbing but even then, he's still Ben to me. He'll always be Ben to me.

"I don't call you a monster!" I point out, "You'll never be one to me!"

Ben takes a step forward, then another, then a third and finally a fourth. We're nose to nose. We're close enough to touch.

"Don't compare us. I'm nothing like you," he says, his blue eyes turning cold and dark.

Ben steps into the dark of the tent. He disappears into the black and leaves me there in the light of the circus.

He leaves me here.

_He leaves me._

_I'm a monster._

_I'm nothing._

_The walls are closing in again._

_No._

_NO!_

_No walls! NO MORE WALLS!_

_Fucking burn them! Burn everything- burns!_

_Kill everyone! Kill everyone-kill- kill the the bat!_

_KILL THE BAT!_

"Batman!" I yell as my eyes open.

Batman's hovering over me. My arms and legs are useless as I go to move them. For what purpose, I'm not sure. Batman's undoing the straps slowly.

"Oh, Bats, I had a terrible dream," I complain as he works on the strap across my chest, "I think you were in it but I'm not sure. Say your name isn't Ben is it?"

"No," Batman grunts as the strap comes undone.

"Well then, maybe it wasn't you but there was an undeniable bat motif in there. Never thought I'd be one for a teenage romance. Nice ending though..."

"Would you be quiet?" Batman growls as he finishes with the lower strap.

I go to jump up and out of my position but I barely manage to pick my head up. I feel disoriented and...woozy.

Batman suddenly picks me up and swings me over his shoulder.

"Hey now," I joke, "I'm all for taking intiative but shouldn't you buy me dinner first?"

Batman punches the back of my knee. I take like a man of course and notice Crane sitting in a corner looking beat up as hell. I smirk a little.

"Cheeky, overachieving bastard. Did he interrupt our fight?"

Batman doesn't respond. As he begins carrying me out I notice some notes sitting on a table. I grab it quickly and begin to read aloud.

"'Subjects Joker and Batman seem to be fixated on one another'." I read, "Hm, what do you think that means? Something Fruedian, Bats?"

I earn a punch to the back of my other knee and I drop the clipboard of notes. So much for reading material on the trip. Huh, trip...

"Say, not that I don't _love_ surprises, but where are you taking me?"

"To the Batcave," Batman replies, all gruff and manly as usual, "I need to run scans on both of us to ensure that the serum Crane was using hasn't effected us in any long term way and to make sure it's not contagious or-"

"So what you're saying is," I pause for dramatic effect, "we're going to go play doctor back at your place?"

Another punch to the knee.

"Touchy, touchy," I scold.

**A/N: Could this possibly be a three chapter short? Or will I end it hear? THE WORLD MAY NEVER KNOW. O:**


	3. Waking

**A/N: Well, I began it a year ago on this most wonderful of holidays and now I shall end it. I apologize that it's a year in running but I now give you the final chapter.**

For possibly the first time in all my encounters with Joker, the madman is wordless. He's just sitting there, quiet and compliant as I extract blood from the vein in his forearm. It's almost like the restraints on his arms and legs aren't needed.

I had knocked him out earlier. I couldn't help myself. His incessant banter was getting on my nerves. I had to keep the location of the Batcave a secret anyway so I had a legitimate purpose in the end.

When he came to, I already had him strapped to a table. He looked a little...confused. Of course, I informed him that I was going to do a few tests to see if the drug had passed through his system. He didn't really respond to the idea but he went along with it. Not that he has much choice considering I've got him bound to a table.

The vile is full of blood and I cap it quickly. I take the needle out of his arm and stick a small slip of cotton on the penetrated skin, and wrap some gauze around his arm. As I stick on a little medical tape to keep the bandage on, I laugh a little to myself solely on the inside.

All these years I've probably collectively wounded this man enough to kill him and now here I am patching him up and playing doctor. It's ironic really.

I look at Joker a little closer this time but I try not to be apparent about it. I sneak glances as I pull off my glove. Despite the fact that I have complete control of my motor functions and my mind is as clear and coherent as the world around me, I still need to test my own blood. Even if the drug has stopped showing effects there could still be trace amounts of it in my system, enough to identify components of it.

But even though I'm making every attempt to be discreet at looking at Joker, his eyes meet mine each and every time I look up at him. He keeps catching me. It's as if he knows when I'm going to look at him and then looks at me at the same time...or maybe he just hasn't stopped looking at me.

As the vile fills up, I cap it and do the same to my arm as I did to Joker's. Coincidentally, I took blood from my left arm just as I had taken blood from Joker's left arm and I realize this as I rest my bare arm next to his.

"You've been quiet," I grunt to Joker before going cliché, "too quiet."

Joker doesn't say anything and I find that my suspicions are true. I can feel him looking at me before I even make the decision to look up and meet his gaze.

We stay like that for a little while. I know how I look to him and everyone else really. The dark mask with its sharp edges and severe build makes me look stony and unemotional. As I look at him though, I don't feel unemotional. I find myself curious and maybe even a little...concerned.

"Untie me," Joker suddenly speaks.

I'm not even sure what to say at first. Half out of surprise from him speaking at all and half from surprise that he'd actually ask me to let him go.

A stony look masking my surprise is all I manage to come up with.

"Untie me," Joker repeats.

The request isn't demanding. It isn't sarcastic. It's not a halfhearted complaint. It's not anything similar in tone or intent that Joker would normally say. Joker is prone to mood swings. I know that. But this doesn't feel exactly like a mood swing. It's off somehow.

"Why would I do that?" I ask him.

I notice movement in Joker's hand and my eyes immediately go to it. I then watch as he moves his hand out towards mine. His fingers just barely touch the side of my hand and they rest there.

I pull back my hand to myself without thinking about it. It's unlike me to do something so uncalculated but it's too late to do anything about it. My arm is pulled back behind me, as far from Joker as possible. My mouth is slightly open, the only indication of any emotion on my face.

Joker doesn't seem to register any other emotion than his silent intensity. I'm almost a little disturbed by it. He's just staring at my face but his eyes are absent of ill intent. It's just this intensity that I can't quite pin.

I wonder briefly if he's still dreaming. Maybe the drug hasn't worn off and he's now in a hallucinogenic or dream like state. It would make sense that he'd ask to be released but then, I should try and make sure.

I feel a fleeting sense of guilt. If he's hallucinating then he might not even know who he is or who I am for that matter and I've gone and strapped him down, checked over his body, and taken his blood. He might be terrified for all I know.

He doesn't look terrified though...

"Joker?" I ask, getting a closer look at him and relaxing my arm.

"Batman," he responds almost immediately.

The room is quiet again. I don't know what to say to him. He didn't refute my assumption and he identified me instantly so there's no confusion. Still, he's looking at me with some resolution I don't understand.

"Put your hand on the table," he says, never breaking eye contact with me.

I slowly adhere to his request. There's nothing he can do to me when he's like this. I've got nothing at risk accept for my general discomfort.

By the time I've fully reasoned with myself, my hand is on the table.

"Palm up," he says, "and closer."

I don't want to go any further now. I feel this sudden uneasiness. Not fear. Just uneasiness. This is wrong. This isn't right but why isn't it right?

Maybe...maybe _I'm_ the one still dreaming.

It could be entirely possible that I'm still on that table with an IV shoved in my arm and unconscious. This could all be a dream. After all, I didn't have to bring Joker here. I could have just left him at Arkham and stolen the records that would be documented after they checked him over. But then, if I was dreaming then why was I so aware?

"Please," Joker asks me.

There's desperation in how he says it. He licks his lip, not in anticipation but out of nervous twitch. I have to be dreaming. By no means or any context would Joker ever say "please" especially so... vulnerably.

I slide my bare hand closer to his. The table's cold against my skin. Joker tilts his hand upwards and I feel the warmth of it as my hand slides under his.

I hold my breath and he lets his hands rest in mine. I stare at the phenomenon. Dr. Crane had been right. I did dream of Joker but in every dream, it was a variation of Joker. Nonetheless, the theme is constant, violence, romance, and so on. This dream however is mind numbingly blunt and I seem to have to control over my actions at the very least.

Joker's fingers begin to explore my palm. With a gentleness I'd never seen before, he traces lines on my hands, his slightly long nails caressing my skin. He stretches his fingers wide and manages to run one over my thumb. He then curls up his fingers and manages to push and pull until his are in-between mine.

There's no harm in exploring this. There's no danger in me giving in and maybe I _want_ to give. All my subconscious desires point to this, all of my dreams.

Even when I'm not a part of some experiment...I still dream about him. I dream about him all the time.

"Untie me, Bats," he asked me, forcing me to look up from our hands, "do it."

He grips my fingers a little tighter. It borders on violent but it's not. It's just passionate. I grip back just as passionately and give him a nod. We then let go and I move to set him free.

It feels like I'm unleashing great power and in a way I am. Joker may be just a man physically but in a greater sense of reality he is much more than a man. He's a force and one to reckon with. I don't fear him though, not in the slightest. I'm equal parts power as he is. One force releasing another.

I get to the last the strap, the one on the wrist that led to the hand that had just been holding mine. At any point, Joker could easily undo it himself. He could also attack with as much ease as setting himself free but instead he waits there patient and compliant. I hesitate to finish unstrapping him but only because I want to see how long he'll wait.

"Batman," he says after a minute but eyes still linger on his bound wrist, "...Bats."

I look at him and there's a hint of normalcy to his face. I can't quite describe it but there's a sense of annoyance to his eyes as I look up at them. He gestures with a nod to his wrist but he doesn't dare to move. I don't understand why he wouldn't do it himself but then, I hardly ever really understand him at all.

"I don't how long this will last," he points out, his voice gaining a slight growl.

It must be a sign that I'll be waking up soon. I take it as such and I unstrap the final binding, too afraid not to explore this space and this moment my psyche has created.

The minute I let his wrist loose, Joker pounces on me. He hits me hard at the jaw and then in the gut. I can feel the pain of the hit searing in my stomach and crawling up my cheek and down my chin. It's not strange for me to vividly dream up the sensation since I've been so many times before.

The next thing I know, he forces me onto the table and actually manages to strap one of my arms down at the wrist. I swing at him with my free hand but he intercepts it before I land the hit. He uses both of his arms against my one and manages to trap it under thick leather.

I struggle against being bound and as I do, Joker finishes up the process and straps down my legs. I continue to pull and struggle. Even in a dream, I'm not okay with this.

With the history of dreams I've had so far, I question what's about to happen. Is he going to torture me? Dissect me? Leave me here to die? Everything up until this point has been violent and there's no question about it. My mind contains a vast amount of violence so I can only imagine what's about to go down.

Joker then crawls on top of the table and over me. My struggle comes to a complete halt and I don't know what to do with myself not there's much I can do. He's sitting on my crotch and I'm tied down to a table.

It suddenly occurs to me what's happening and I'm still as stone. This was going to come up eventually, I guess I should have known that. In the strangest of ways, me being strapped down is poetically accurate. I would never face this willingly.

"So it's all come down to this," Joker says, his voice regaining its natural flow of sarcasm, "I've got to tie you down just so you'll let me love you?"

I don't answer and even if I had an answer, it would have gone out with the breath I release just as Joker begins leaning down. He slowly gets closer and closer to my face. I know what he's about to do. I can feel it coming but I still can't quite believe it.

I have to remind myself that this is a dream. It's not real. It's just a very realistic dream.

What is it that I'm projecting here though? Is this a fear of mine? Misplaced sexual tension? Or maybe I'm really just that lonely.

Joker pauses, so close to my lips that he could stick out that curious pink tongue of his and glide it across my lips instead of his.

"You really do complete me, Bats," Joker said, his breath hitting on Bruce's mouth, "You're my other half, my soul mate and you know, if you and I had just been born normal, raised normal, just been- normal-"

He laughs lightly. He's surprisingly spot on for a dream, minus the lack of sadistic tendencies.

"Normal," he says to the air around them than Bruce, "imagine what we'd be if we'd been normal."

Joker takes a knife from his pants pocket. I can't believe I missed that but then, when he was bound on the table and I was the one walking freely, him having a knife wasn't of any concern. Sadistic tendencies are now incorporated. I might have more control over this hallucination than I thought.

Joker puts the blade against my face. It feels cold and the sharpness has a slight bite against my skin. He doesn't drag the blade. He just holds it in place.

"You know I'd never want to kill you," Joker said, his voice hissing and somewhat seductive, "and I know you won't kill me no matter how much that little voice in your head wants to."

"Who said I wanted to kill you?" I ask, interrupting whatever rant he was about to embark on.

"Oh you want to kill me," Joker says, moving the blade off my face and pointing the knife at in instead like an accusing finger, "I know you do. I can't see it on your face."

"Maybe I did," I'm quick to defend myself, "once...but who said I still felt that way?"

And I meant that. Over time...I can't really explain it but my urge to take revenge for Rachel's death seemed to change. It wasn't as individualized as it had been. It was like wanting revenge for my parents' deaths. I really didn't spend all my time and resources tracking down who killed them. I just atone for not being able to save them by saving the lives of others. I think Rachel's death got absorbed into that motivation. After all, I've known for years that Joker was responsible and still I wouldn't kill him. At first it was out of my decision to be better than the criminal scum around me but it doesn't feel that way anymore.

I keep him around because...in the strangest way...I like him.

"Okay, so you don't want to kill me," Joker says casually, "but I know you're not going to be happy with what I'm about to do. Believe me, if I was in your position I'd start feeling really violated real soon but- I just can't help it anymore, Bats. I'm- spontaneous! Impulsive! And I want only one thing- just one!"

"Gotham's soul," I expand on his statement

Of course, if Joker ever did violate me sexually, it'd be to emasculate me, humiliate me. It's a move commonly used in prisons to show power and I wouldn't put it beneath Joker. I expected something more complex out of him but then again, this was just my subconscious projection of him. Maybe I simplified it for time's sake.

"No, no, no," Joker says, getting dangerously close to my face again.

I hear the knife clatter against the floor. He's thrown it or dropped it. Either way he's unarmed now and my worst predictions of torture are out the window with it.

"The only thing _I_ want..." he says, looking me straight in the eyes, "...is you."

He ravishes my lips with all the passion and precision of a madman and I am motionless to the onslaught. I don't know how I'm meant to respond to this. Is this how I feel about the Joker or how I think the Joker feels about me? What is this mental experiment meant to Joker bites my lip and the bite sends a shiver down my spine. I feel the urge to respond physically. I almost want to kiss him back but the ramifications of that want and acting on it even in a dream would-

Joker pulls back suddenly and looks angry with me. No, he's not exactly angry. He's upset. He almost looks like he's on the verge of tears...and I feel guilty for it.

"I lied," he says frantically, "I lied again! That's a bad habit of mine. What I meant when I said I only wanted one thing was that I wanted two things; I want _you_ and I want _you_ to want me!"

He grabs me by the head and his dirty fingers are tight with their grip. I can feel each of them and where they'd be if I wasn't wearing a mask; thumbs right by my eyes, index fingers curled above my cheekbones, middle fingers touching the top of my ears, ring fingers behind the ears and pinkies resting on my neck.

"What does it take to get your attention, huh?!" he yells at me, "Do I have to burn down all of Gotham?! Is that what you want!? Is that what it takes, Bats?!"

So it's all for my attention now...Gotham isn't the prize is the means to get to the prize. The prize is...me...

I wish for a moment that he could see my face. I wish I could remove my mask and let him see all the in the hesitation, indecision, and confusion that's flashing across my face. Normally, I wish my daily self could wear this mask just to conceal my every thought but I don't want to conceal this thought. I want him to know this. I need him to know this.

"Untie me," I tell him.

He just laughs at the request and sits up straight, pulling away from my face entirely and letting my head go free.

"As you so- uh- eloquently put it," he says, "why would I do that?"

"Trust me," I say to him.

He shakes his head and giggles at the notion. He then brings his body closer to mine and I can sense the seduction and desire in his voice.

"I've waited too long to do this," he said, "I can't let you go. I may never have this chance again, Bats. It's once in a lifetime."

"Then kiss me," I tell him.

Joker is shocked by this. He puts a pinky into his ear and digs for a moment before looking back to me.

"You want to say that again?" Joker said, "Sometimes I think I hear things. You understand, right?"

I wish my arms were free. I wish they were free so I could hold him by the face. So I could make him look me in the eyes. He's one of the most brilliant, calculating minds I've ever encountered. His philosophies are complex and beautiful but so deeply rooted in the darker side of nature that they're crazy and destructive. He's intelligent and deep and powerful. He has so much potential. He could be so...beautiful.

"I don't want to hurt you," I confess to him and myself, "I...I want to save you."

I expect him to laugh. I expect him to have a sudden disgust of me. His...'love' or whatever it should be called, is partly based on me not reciprocating. I know that. There's an entire possibility that with the confession of my feelings, his will disappear.

Instead, he's silent. He's that way for a while. He just looks at me like he's trying to decipher something. He's trying to tell if this is a trick. I can see the doubt on his face.

"You," he points to me and then back to himself, "want to save...me?"

"You're worth too much to not save," I tell him, "...you're...beautiful."

There's an overwhelming emotional pull as tell him this. I can't stop myself and I begin into rollercoaster into saying more than I should even in a false reality. I was spelling myself out to Joker in plain English. Dr. Crane was sure to get a hell of an observation from this if I'm even saying out loud half of what I'm saying here.

"You want me. You want me to want you. I'm willing to give myself to you but only if you give yourself to me. There has to be a reason we're so fixated on each other and maybe our never ending battle isn't it."

"W-what about-" Joker's nervous twitch returns and his tongue dances across his lips, "-Rachel? I killed her. I try to kill your city every day. I'd kill others and more!"

I stare Joker in the eyes. Since the day we were first alone in a room together, he knew something that I only recently began to understand. He and I _are_ alike. It's more than I had wanted to admit at the time and it was in a way I didn't understand. We are incomplete people who brought themselves forth from the ashes of our respective tragedies and made ourselves into forces. We do it for a sense of purpose, to be bigger than our incompleteness, to cope really. I find a steadiness in him and a sense of wonder. He's so like me, he just took a different path. I became justice and he became chaos. He can't help the things he did. He's sick...like me only so much worse...I understand him and I know that to some degree or another he understands me.

For the first time in my life I feel and admit to feeling something I never have felt before.

"I forgive you," I say.

Forgiveness; it's as strange to feel as it is to give. There's this weight in my heart that seems to lift. I forgive Joker for the things he's done not because they're forgivable but because I want to save him. Because he could be something so much greater.

...because I love him.

Joker silently removes the binding from my wrists but never breaks eye contact with me. He's silent just as he was when I'd had him strapped to the table. When both my arms are free, I prop myself up to get closer to Joker who's still sitting on my chest. I can see the instant regret of letting me loose. He raises his arms to either hit or push me but I grab them quickly.

"No one-" Joker stutters to get it out. I know this is too much emotion for him. He looks like he's going to break but I can't stop pushing, not now. "Everyone's afraid of me. They want to kill me or work for me or- no one's ever wanted to save me before."

I let go of his arms and wrap mine around him. I hold him tight almost too tight to be comfortable. I just don't want him to run off. I don't want him to disappear.

"You're worth the saving, Joker," I whisper to him, my voice probably sounding the most tender it ever has to him.

He's rigid, unsure of how to respond and I don't blame him for that. I realize it may sound cliché of me to say but I highly doubt this man has ever been loved in his entire life. He claims backstories of love gone wrong, wives, fathers, children, friends, etc. As I hold him there I can feel the truth through his stiffened body; he's never been loved in his life. He doesn't know how to deal with an embrace because nobody's ever embraced him before.

He might have been abandoned as a baby, lived as an orphan and then a homeless man. There's no record of him anywhere. He's completely off the charts. He doesn't have a family or parents to speak of. He was alone. He was nobody. He wasn't anything to anyone. So he did what he needed to become more than nobody. I know he did...because I did the same thing.

"You want to know what normal is? So do I...and I want to help you...and me. Us. We don't have to do this dance forever. We can do something else forever, we can do this."

I still hold on to him to prove my point. I don't want to let him go. I don't want to ever let him go. His salvation would mean my salvation and I'm so tired of being in the dark. I want to live my life again. I want to be more than a force. I want to be human.

Joker's arms slowly lift up and hold on to my torso. I shudder with the movement. He's learning. He's showing me that he _can_ do this.

But it's fleeting.

He pushes me away from him and begins running at full speed but not before I catch a glimpse of his face. He was crying. The Joker, the madman, the clown prince...was crying.

He's human after all.

I don't bother to chase after him. I just unstrap my legs from the table. He'll find his way out on his own and it's better if I don't go after him. I could if I wanted to but I decide to let my dream run its course. I lay down on the table, feeling the warmth Joker had left on it. There was so much to figure out from this. I know there's a logical explanation for my reactions and this strange fantasy but that's all something to figure out in the morning.

I wake up groggily in my own bed to the sound of knocking on my door. It's strange though, I haven't used my own bed in ages but I hardly sleep in the first place. Alfred comes in with a tray.

"Happy Halloween sir. Rough night, I'm assuming?" he asks me.

_Halloween...so that's why every villain in Gotham was itching for my attention. Joker's scheme with detonators in pumpkins suddenly makes sense now...I really need to start paying attention to my calendar__._

I nod my head. It's not uncommon for Alfred to bring me breakfast, or lunch, or dinner or whenever it is I actually stay in one place long enough to eat. It's just been the first time in a while since I actually got breakfast in bed.

"How I'd end up here?" I ask him with a yawn.

"Well, I found you asleep in the cave last night. I went to wake you up but you were so tired that you half consciously woke up and I had to guide you here. It reminds me of when you were a teenager."

I recall what he means. When I was in my studies I used to stay up late reading books about criminology until I passed out on my desk. That's when I first really got interested in all this but if you were to tell my sixteen year old self that I'd eventually become Batman, he'd probably laugh, halfheartedly but still laugh.

I don't bother to question whether or not this is reality. I know it is. I have that sense of conviction that one gets solely from knowing the truth. Besides, I know that if I was dreaming and Alfred was involved, he'd be considerably more father like. That's the one thing I'll never ask of him because I wanted him to be more of a father to me as I child I respect now why he didn't and now I'm much too old to have a father.

"Thank you, Alfred," I say to him as I wave away the tray, "but I'm not feeling very hungry right now."

"An after effect of that drug I assume?" Alfred said, "Not that there's any left in your system."

I look at Alfred oddly.

"How did you know I had a drug in me? And what you mean there's none left in my system?"

Alfred set the tray onto a table and sits on the chair next to it.

"When I went down to find you, I notice that your computers indicated that your system was clear of any contaminants. I assumed it was a drug you were looking for. Why else would you test your blood? But I have to ask, Master Bruce, who else's blood were you testing down there?"

"What?"

"There was another set of results by the screen. Who's blood was that?"

I jump up from my bed and I can feel panic rushing through my system. I take off out the door and down the hallway.

"Master Bruce!" Alfred calls after me, "At least take the ice with you! That bruise on your face is terrible!"

As I'm running to the Batcave, I bring my fingers up to my jawline where Joker had punched me in my dream. The flesh in tender and sore. It's definitely bruised. More panic. More rush.

I end up in the Batcave and I almost fear getting close to that table but I push myself towards it anyway. The computer screen is displaying results brightly. My blood is clear of any unknown or mutated drug but still, I can read out that there were very trace amounts of a light sedative.

...that's all Crane was using? A sedative?

The results next to mine are real. They read almost the same as mine with deviation for things like diet and iron levels. I know who the blood belongs to but I'm not ready to admit it. Then I reason with myself. Maybe I did take Joker down here and take some of his blood but that doesn't mean anything else happened. The bruise isn't that strange. Crane could have given it to me or Joker at some point before I strapped him down. This doesn't mean anything. It doesn't mean anything at all.

As I make my way to the computer, I see something shining nearby. I go to investigate it and upon closer inspection, I see that it's a knife.

A knife.

I pick it up slowly and my hand is actually shaking. I put the knife against my skin and I feel the familiarity of its coolness and its bite. I let out a breath, one that I've apparently been holding. I can feel again all things I felt with him. The way his lips attack mine. The painful urge to respond mutually. The realization and feel of forgiveness and the want to love him.

_'I want you and I want you to want me'._

Is that really all he wants? Was he lying to me? Even if he wasn't, I know I wasn't lying to me. I felt everything that I felt. This isn't a matter of deconstructing a dream anymore this is a matter of adapting to this new reality.

All I can be sure of is that last night wasn't a dream. Nothing I did or said or what was done or said to me was a dream and for the first time since I was a child... I'm afraid.

**A/N: Oooooh! The threat of romantic feelingsss! Spooooookyyyyy! XD Before anyone asks, I'm ending it here. Yes, I realize that it's nothing fully definite but I like it on this note. Besides, I'm done with the Bat and the Clown Prince for now. I feel they have a good chunk of my attention for some time and now it's on to other pairings (everybody needs love!). Happy Halloween guys! I hope your day is filled with sweet treats and the tastiest of tricks. ;9**


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